He'd seen things that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. He'd killed men. He'd nearly been killed. He'd spent nights lying awake trying to hold onto the last shreds of his humanity on the days where all he had was hate in his heart for his enemies. He'd contemplated suicide while reflecting on the things he'd done, and dismissed the idea when he learned to become drunk on his power, on his ruthlessness, on his immaculate aim. He thought he'd seen it all. He'd even ventured to think there was nothing that he would ever see again that would ever be enough to shake him. He'd been mistaken.
The moment he heard the gunshot he kicked the door down. It slid across the floor and slammed into a wall. He stepped through the threshold and a bullet whizzed past him and ricocheted off a lamp, found it's final resting place in the forehead of a man that it took Diesel a split second to realize was none other than Peter. Diesel dropped to the floor, his heart beat barely increasing. He rolled behind a couch and slid his blade from his boot.
"Pete!" The man with the gun wailed. Diesel waited, readied the blade in his hand.
"Oh God, Peter! Look what you made me do!" the man yelled. Diesel waited a beat and then stood up to take in the room. His heart stopped and bile rose in his throat when he caught sight of Madison slumped against a wall on the other side of the room, a red circle spreading on the fabric of her well pressed white blouse. His mind went wild for a moment; he heard the sounds of falling shells, almost slipped back entirely into memories of the violent times he'd endured as images of carnage and suffering flashed before his eyes, and with effort borne of Madison's need for him he came back to himself.
"Yo, drop the weapon!" he yelled, his voice even and stern.
"Fuck you," the man said. He stood and aimed his gun, but his hand jerked in surprise when Diesel threw the blade. It whizzed through the air and hit the man in his shoulder. The gun fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Diesel stood over him, stepped on his chest and pulled the blade out of his shoulder bone eliciting a scream of agony. He took his cell phone from his pocket and called 911 for the second time. He'd beaten the police here as it was and he had no time to waste, Madison hadn't moved once since he'd entered the house.
"Yes, I need an ambulance, now!" he said to the dispatcher when she answered. He relayed the address ended the call and returned his attention to the man beneath his boot. He was crying hysterically and wasn't even attempting to get up.
"Who the fuck are you and what did you do to Madison!" Diesel yelled. The man replied with renewed sobs, wails almost. "Start talking or I'll slit your throat!" Diesel said.
"I'm Carlos, I---I am a friend of Peter's. I was seeing Madison as my therapist and then I learned that she was getting back with Peter. I couldn't take it. I'm sorry, I just went crazy, I couldn't take it! And now look! My love is dead! I killed him."
"You did, and it's no one's fault but your own," Diesel said caustically. "I'll tell you what, if your unstable ass managed to kill my girl as well, you'll wish for jail," he said. With thoughts of murdering the man right where he lay running through his mind, he forwent the lure of revenge by reminding himself of what Madison was helping him realize he possessed; the decency of a man who only murdered because he had to, to kill enemies. Not for pleasure. With one swift punch to the temple, Diesel simply knocked Carlos out cold. He walked toward Madison but stopped in his tracks. He didn't want to know. She wasn't moving and he was afraid to check her pulse, afraid to find it non-existent. He said a silent prayer, slid his knife back into his boot.
The first thing he did was touch her cheek. It was burning hot. He smoothed a few tendrils of hair out of her face and took a few deep breaths before he drummed up the nerve to check her pulse. Faint, but there. He breathed a sigh of relief that brought on a wave of sobs as he got on his knees and stared at her, afraid to touch her and make things worse. He waited, unsure of his next move. He was saved from the torture of contemplation of her state when she opened her eyes ever so slightly.
"Madison, oh God Madison baby! That's good, you're going to be okay. You're alive!"
"I'm alive for now," she said in a pained gasp. "But it hurts," she said.
"I know baby. The ambulance is on the way." He watched her eyes gain focus and roam around the room.
"Peter!" She exclaimed when she caught sight of him lying across the room, a trail of blood running from the hole in his forehead. "Did you--"
"No, I didn't kill him. Carlos or whoever he is, he did it on accident. He shot at me when I came in and the bullet ricocheted. Fuck that though, Madison, tell me, how did you get here?"
"Peter called me to come, he sounded hysterical. He's done me wrong in my life but---but I still care for him, Diesel. It hurt me to hear him in so much anguish. I came over to talk to him, try to make him feel better and then Carlos came bursting in."
"You should have told me you were coming here, I could've persuaded you to use your head."
"Diesel, I'm sorry, I never thought it would come to this."
"I know Maddy. Don't apologize. I'm just pissed that I couldn't prevent this. You're my heart, Madison. If you died what would I do? I'd be lost without you." She looked away from him, winced again.
"Diesel, I'm not trying to be negative but I don't think I'm out of the woods yet. It hurts to breathe, it's hard to breathe, for that matter. I don't know what the bullet's done but it's still in me and my fingers and hands are so cold."
